Last night I couldn't
sleep a wink at all
for
the sound of thunder
like the Gods' bowling ball
rolling on a hardwood floor
resounding on the airs
doing a number on my slumber
in the room upstairs
but
in the serenity of silence
I'll switch off the light
catch a nap
and if it's quiet tonight
hopefully
between moonbeams
be
carried away on dreams sweet dreams
BALL
bouncing
off the wall
with no tennis court
and no other players
the back of the house will do
"there are many paths to success"
Figure of Eight got me thinking
It's infinity on its side!
Eight days a week, I rode till dawn.
Slipping behind eight ball's shadow.
On Cloud Eight, with just one to come.
While strumming eight-note blues on drums;
I figured eight had found me out~
Swirling around its loopty-loops.
The soccer ball rolls through school days
By Phan Tan Hai
The ball rolls across the schoolyard grass,
mesmerizing the boy who chases it—
kicking until the afternoon snags on the hanging moon,
kicking until the morning sun climbs up to watch;
even Pelé comes to gaze from the veranda,
shouting in a jubilant, midnight dream.
The ball bounds wildly in every direction;
clutching it, he roams the streets to challenge others—
any open space becomes a pitch,
kicking until summer sun and spring rain fade away;
even Messi would be astounded
to see a childhood kick soar high in the dead of night.
The ball travels through school days,
rolling past hills, mountains, rivers, lakes, and distant seas;
with a single strike, a rain of blossoms falls—
an offering to the boundless realm of form and void.
Waking at midnight to gaze across the ten directions,
he sees a thousand clouds drifting past the sun’s rosy glow.
Weekly Poetry Challenge 50 words Exactly July 27, 2026-August 2, 2026
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A silent silver ball
On the heavenly sky,
It paints a rounded doll,
Where hidden wonders lie.
The shadows softly creep,
Whispering in the air,
While hidden secrets sleep
Beyond all earthly care.
A balm for weary eyes,
A mellifluous grace,
Beneath the starlit skies
It finds its rightful place.
Pippa rushes through the lawn
It’s a happy game to play
But too far her ball you’ve thrown
And it rolled away
Down to the apple tree
To rose bushes over there
For a moment you can’t see
Pippa’s tail, and you take care
“Pippa!” – ah, she’s got that ball
And runs back to you
Still I hear your worried call
Sometimes it comes through
Go the ball Park,
To better figure things out.
Go to the ball park,
To meet people who play ball.
Go to the ball park,
To learn how to park smarter.
Go to the ball park,
To see value in your kids.
I am slowly decaying away, soon to be dying.
Inward into a translucent clear quartz sphere my soul is scrying;
Gazing into final chapter in which I am crying.
A dog with a ball
bolts beneath a wooden table
that has seen some life,
many years of beer and storms
have turned the slats to torpid grey
not brown and sleek as once they were
but enough to hide the quaking fur
of the dog with the ball
who growls and shakes his salty curls
while the wind from the beach
curses and hurls abusive shrieks
at the well wrapped man with a paper cup
who attempts to drink and to calm his pup,
nobody else is there at all
just man with a cup, and a dog with a ball
Arcing in the blue,
the beach ball rose~
light as a whispered spell,
bright as the lifted tip
of a conductor’s wand
calling the morning awake.
It swirled above the yawning sands,
a sky-born ballerina
swollen proudly
with oceanic breath,
turning slow pirouettes
in the hush of early light.
Then, as if summoned
by some gentle, unseen command,
it drifted down
into my outstretched arms~
a small miracle
wrapped in peach-colored dawn.
In that tender glow,
I felt the world beyond
lean close enough to speak:
Be patient.
Wait.
All will become right.
kaleidoscope waltz
blossom of beautiful skirts
spirited florals
I wake in a rush~
green, fuzzy, full of purpose
until a racket smacks me
into sudden enlightenment.
I sail, spinning,
seeing the world in fast-forward:
white lines blurring,
players grunting,
the sun cheering me on
like a loud, overexcited coach.
I hear everything~
the gasp when I clip the net,
the groan when I bounce out,
the triumphant whoop
when I land exactly
where someone wanted me.
I think a lot, actually~
mostly about momentum,
destiny,
and why humans argue
so passionately
over where I land.
But what I feel
is the court beneath me~
its clay, its grass, and grit~
a brief, grounding moment
before I’m launched again
into the bright, chaotic ballet
of being a ball
with no say
in where I’m going next.
“The Old Ball Game”
Due to length of narrative, this poem redirects to Candide Diderot’s “Short Story” section.
Candide Diderot. '26
As I gaze into my Crystal Ball
What do I see
Is it the future
For you and me
Or just dreams from within my head
No, it’s the real thing instead
I can see us together for eternity
So what will be, will be
Happiness love and everlasting passion is ours
It will grow and grow just like the flowers
And will bloom more each single day
Because true love has come our way
My Crystal Ball, this earth of ours
Come Rain, Sun or earthly showers
We will be in love for ever more
Because I can see just whats in store
So my darling never fear
Our love will last for many a year
Through all darkness into the light
Many a hot, steamy passionate night
So everlasting love is ours for the taking
So grab with both hands, not forsaking
Our love will last till eternity
Because its truly real, this you will see
They would seem to sit side by side,
both were right; each was left.
She was wrapped in her ragged cardigan,
would gaze beyond her present
into the echo of her past.
Each wrinkle told a story.
Twilight years were with them and they knew
each would continue to be alone.
His memories would flood now
but then fade, as he sighed;
she would sigh as she remembered
his ragged-trousered bearing.
Apart now, but memories keep them together.
She and he gaze back, each wishing for rest.
Memories keep them silent,
memories of husband and wife,
memories of youth as they think
of that ball at his side, once shared
but no longer with her.
The ball is a globe of memory,
once kicked, gazed upon by both,
but now by him with keen eyes;
she with her mind.
Life was a ball, now an empty hall;
it has but an echo.
Each is alive - but who will be the first to depart?
(March/April 2026)
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